


Legend

by peachycans



Series: RvB Oneshots [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, Mild Gore, Roman AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 04:59:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4906444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachycans/pseuds/peachycans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After 22 years living as the heir to the throne of a Roman civilization, Dick Simmons is forced to find a suitable partner to marry by his own king and queen; and in the worst way possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Legend

They were always looking for beautiful women for him in the city, Simmons’ parents. He was never comfortable with it, never okay with it; every time they brought someone into the palace he would send them away.

His mother and father were confused. Why wouldn’t their son marry? He was of age; 22 years old. And yet, he was still as picky as ever. 

After a month of the torment, Simmons decided enough was enough. His family was eating at the far end of their large banquet table when Simmons put down the peach in his hand and stood up, resting his palms on the table.

“Mother, Father,” Simmons began slowly, relaxing his shoulders before letting out a deep sigh. “I don’t want to marry a woman. I feel that I’d enjoy a man’s company much more than a hundred women.”

The immediate silence hung heavy over the table. After a moment his mother nodded and politely bit into the meat on her fork, “Then we will have to find you a husband instead. It may have been better to bring this up before, right dear?” She said, looking over to her husband.

Simmons’ father grunted in agreement and stuffed more potatoes into his mouth. Simmons let out a relieved sigh and sat back down, picking up his fork and finishing his meal in silence with the rest of his family.

*****

Dust particles flew off of the ground as Grif threw down three bags of wheat, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He growled as his toga snagged on his sandal, marching over to a dark-skinned man playing with his fingernails.

“It’s your turn.” Grif grumbled, panting as he leaned against the cart with the last of their delivery supplies. 

The man groaned, “You piled them way too fast to be done!” He complained loudly, marching over to the cart’s opening to unload the last of the supplies.

“It’s called taking more than one at a time, Tucker. The sooner we get this done, the better.” Grif groaned as he slid down into a sitting position. He didn’t bother to pull the toga underneath him when he sat, the dirt and pebbles on the dusty ground below scraping his skin.

“That kind of work can kill you if you do it for long enough. You should just keep taking one at a time from now on, Grif. Help yourself.” Tucker said as he stacked the last of the bags outside of the shop entrance, wiping his hands on his pale teal toga before shaking a small rock out of his shoe.

Grif glared at him, “I’ll die of starvation before I do more work.” At that moment, his stomach growled for emphasis. Grif held his chest and moaned as the smell of freshly baked pastries suddenly wafted from inside of the shop in front of them. “How much longer until we eat again?”

Tucker walked over to a sundial in the shop window and observed the shadow. He sighed and turned back around to Grif. “Not for a while. The sun hasn’t even peaked yet.”

“Terrific.” Grif whispered sarcastically. He closed his eyes and decided that a well-deserved nap sounded nice. He heard Tucker sit down beside him as he took deep breaths. 

A few minutes later, the clanking of iron and chains made Grif slowly peek through his eyelids. Tucker was already kneeling beside him, grabbing his arm and pulling him into the same position. Grif was about to protest before he noticed a group of palace’s men marching around, talking to a few men on the streets. A few even disappeared with the guards.

“What’s going on?” Tucker whispered as quietly as he could. Grif shrugged, glancing over at a guard looking around nearby. The guard’s attention turned to Grif and Tucker kneeling on the ground, expressions seeming as if they’d seen a dead man come back to life. He sized them up before snorting with distaste and walking off.

Tucker and Grif finally stood up and watched as the guards and a few men walked off down the road to who-knows-where. The two were so focused on the men that they nearly jumped out of their skin as someone snuck up behind them and tazed the back of their necks with their fingers.

“Jupiter be damned, what the fuck?!” Grif yelped as he rubbed the back of his neck, immediately face-to-face with unbelievably wide blue eyes.

Donut moved away from Grif’s face, giggling as he looked at both of the startled men, “Did you hear? The prince wants a _husband!_ At first I didn’t believe it, but then I saw guards that were looking for men for him! I wonder who’ll be the new prince!” The blonde giggled, clapping his hands together.

Grif froze on the spot, unable to speak. He suddenly felt hands on his shoulders, rubbing out the kinks in his neck as Tucker spoke, “That’s great, Donut. If you could let us do our job now, that’d be great.” He said, gesturing for Donut to leave.

Donut giggled behind them once more before scampering off. Tucker immediately tightened his grip on Grif’s shoulders, yanking him back so his ear was next to Tucker’s lips, “Who’s gonna be a good husband?” He asked in a mocking tone, trying his best not to laugh. 

Grif growled and tossed Tucker off of his back, fixing the shoulder of his toga. “Shut the fuck up!”

Tucker laughed heartily, clutching his stomach. Grif had told his somewhat-perverted friend about his small crush on the prince. He’d never actually met him personally, but he had seen him a couple times around the city and to Grif, he looked _fine_. But only women had entered the palace to claim his heart, much to Grif’s dismay. Fortunately for him, they would always come out soon after. 

He knew he wasn’t worthy of courting that kind of royalty; he was a bit of a chubby guy- No, no, he was fat. No use denying it. He’d never had the decency to cut off his facial hair like the handsome, rich men did. He always kept it growing across his chin, a bit even sneaking up near the corners of his mouth. And Grif was lucky if he could shower once every six months. It was disgusting, even for him, but he was poor; the poor had to live with it.

Grif was broken from his thoughts as Tucker poked his gut, “You could totally make that into a husband gut.” He chuckled.

The dark-haired man leaned against the wall, “My mom always said I had a gladiator gut. No way could this ever turn into the gut of the royal palace.” He flushed, looking away.

His friend frowned deeply, shaking his head, “You totally could! Just gotta…” Tucker raised his hands, forming a box around Grif. He looked through his fingers. “Eh…”

Grif shook his head, grabbing the back of Tucker’s toga as he began walking down the street. 

Tucker squirmed, yanking down on the ridden-up fabric while he followed behind Grif. He patted his shoulder comfortingly. “I know you will, man. Just wait.”

*****

Simmons pouted as his mother draped her arms over his shoulders, “What’s wrong, my son?” She asked him in the softest voice possible.

“All of these men just want to marry me for my body. They’ll have their way with me… And they won’t even spare a glance while eating dinner.” Simmons told her, shuddering.

His mother gave him a hug from behind. “Should we keep looking? It’s been a year and a half since we started looking for partners for you, and over fifty men saw you today. You really should find someone before it’s too late-”

“No.” The redhead cut her off rudely. She moved to face him, her pout clear as day.

Just then Simmons’ father stormed into the room, his black cape flowing behind him. He sent a nasty glare his son’s way. “Has he found _anyone_ to marry yet?”

His mother opened her mouth to respond, but Simmons was one step ahead of her, “No! And there obviously isn’t anyone in this godforsaken city meant for me!” He yelled, forcing the oncoming tears back from his eyes.

Simmons’ father gave his a menacing scowl and stormed over to him, grabbing his arms in a vice-grip, “You will find someone to marry within this week or you’ll suffer the consequences severely! I’ve had to deal with you being _interested in men_ ; therefore you will give me something in return!” He spat out. Simmons turned his face away as he felt a few drops of spit landed on his cheek. “I’ve dealt with your shit enough over the last twenty-two years! _You are becoming a disgrace to the family name by sitting around this palace’s corridors!”_

Terrified, the red head struggled in his father’s grip, “Fine! I’ll make it easier on both of you; use Artaxes, send his down to the coliseum! Whoever can kill that lion can _have me!_ But if I end up being someone’s slave, then I’ll curse you every night until you die!” He yelled in his father’s face, storming off.

Simmons wanted to be anywhere else in the palace than where he was now. He decided to run to his room and plop down on his bed, yelling at the ceiling before stuffing his face into the sheets.

*****

“Anyone full and able! A competition is being held in the coliseum tomorrow at dusk! Defeat the mighty lion Artaxes, and win the prince’s hand in marriage!” A caller boy yelled, jogging down the dirt roads of the city.

The sun had begun to set, and the shop-keeps were packing up their booths for the day. Grif looked over at the boy chanting the news over and over again, and focused in on his chants from under the counter.

He felt Tucker kick his leg, “So what was that you were saying about having a gladiator gut before?” He grinned, a smirk pulling at the edge of his lips.

Grif locked up a drawer and shoved the other man’s shoulder, “I’d get killed by that thing.” He frowned. As much as Grif really liked the prince, doing something like that just seemed… wrong.

“I don’t like the idea of fighting, but I guess it’s just what the people like to watch.” A man named Doc sighed, putting the last of his watermelons onto a cart, “Thanks for the help loading, guys. Here.” He handed them three silver pieces and began pushing his cart away.

Grif held the money in his palm as both he and Tucker stared at it, mesmerized. Grif sighed and handed his friend the silver coins, walking away and towards the city’s torch-lit center.

Tucker ran after him, “Where are you going?” He asked.

Grif grinned as they reached the center quickly. “To kill myself.”

“Woah, hold up! I thought you didn’t want to die? Or- get the prince!” Tucker asked, slamming him with more and more questions the closer they got.

Grif turned around to face his friend, placing both hands on Tucker’s shoulders, “Look, I’m going to be honest with you. My life is terrible. We live in the slums. I never said I didn’t want to die, I just said that thing would kill me. There’s really nothing that holds me up anymore except you. Promise me that you’ll be in the stands when I die.” He asked of him, a glint of hope shinning in his eyes.

Tucker squeezed his eyes shut tightly, nodding. “Well _you_ promise _me_ that you’ll at least put up a fight while you’re in there with that thing.”

Grif smirked and nodded. “I couldn’t leave these people without a show, could I? I’ll try to fight, I guess. At least it’ll be my chance to get to see the prince in person if only for a few minutes.”

“You’d better, or I’ll kill you.” Tucker grinned back at him, walking over to the coliseum with Grif to leave him there overnight.

*****

Simmons sat in the front of the stands with his mother and father. He wore his maroon toga and red cape, a golden-leaf crown adorning his head. He sat over with a slouch, angled lazily in his seat. His two parents sat just above him, their backs as stiff as a board.

“Be glad, my son.” He heard his mother say from behind, a comforting tone weaving through her voice. Simmons grunted in response.

As the sun began to set, the start of the duels got closer and closer. Simmons huffed as the guards scattered around the stands and began lighting a series of torches around the coliseum. People began to cheer as they waited eagerly in their seats.

He raised an eyebrow as he heard his lion roar behind bars. It was a ruthless creature, found several years ago by a family hunter before he died of illness. Artaxes was wild, untamed, and vicious. He would rip the head off of any creature that was brought into his den. If anyone was able to kill that animal, Simmons was certain his family would think greatly of them being the one he married.

The red head looked up as he heard someone announcing the challenge, but he drained out the noise. A young man stood at the doors; Simmons noticed he was staring towards him while Artaxes’ gate was being opened. 

Simmons knew how the gladiator fights against Artaxes worked. Someone would step up to fight, and as soon as Artaxes killed them, someone would throw an animal carcass into his cage to draw him back. The process would repeat until there were no participants left. Or someone managed to kill the beast. He vaguely recalled a guard mentioning thirteen men.

Artaxes didn’t waste any time roaming around as he normally would; he immediately spotted his prey from across the stadium and prepared to pounce. The animal’s body dragged across the hard ground, its tail flicking back and forth with anticipation.

The man across the stadium held his sword up in a mock show of defense. Simmons watched with mild amusement as the animal quickly flanked him, throwing the gladiator off. 

He observed the man’s muscles contract as he threw his sword as hard as he could straight towards the animal’s skull. Simmons sighed and shook his head. 

The lion dodged the blade at the last second, the man stumbling back in surprise. Artaxes leapt forward, tackling him to the ground while holding a large paw to his chest. Immediately after his capture, the animal leaned down and ripped the man’s throat out, his scream ripping through the audience’s ears. They all cheered, some booing the man’s incapability.

First rule of fighting a wild animal; never give up your weapon. For any reason.

*****

Tucker weaved his fingers back and forth in his lap, twitching every few seconds. Donut sat next to him, patting his shoulder reassuringly.

He didn’t feel too great after the first fight, if it could even be called that. The man had lasted a minute, tops.

_‘What’s gonna happen to Grif? He used to spar with a few of our friends, but it was barely anything compared to this! What if he doesn’t make it out? What if I have to bear witness to his death? What if-’_

Tucker realized he must have been hyperventilating, because all of a sudden soft hands were massaging his neck. He looked to his left and glared at Doc, who was giving him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, Tucker. He’s a better fighter than any of these guys will ever be. Just relax.”

Any other day Tucker would have shoved him off and told him he was completely fine, but Doc was getting a really bad kink out his neck and it felt nice. It felt good to relax, if only a little bit.

_‘Grif’s got this.’_

*****

Grif gulped as a guard picked up another one of the men sitting in the room. The first had to have died, or else the fight would be over.

Most of the men seemed to have some sort of muscular build. One harassed Grif about his thick arms earlier that day, not even realizing his hands were about the same size. He’d grabbed his face and thrown him across the room into the wall.

That had been the first man to go out. Karma at its finest.

Grif chose to sit near the front just to see if he could hurry his death, but that had been a poor decision. All of the guards that had come in started with the men near the back of the room and started to work their way from there. Jerks.

He wasn’t sure of how long he was going have to wait on the uncomfortable bench he was currently seated on. The first man seemed to have died fairly quickly, so would the others end the same way? If that was the case, Grif would be in there in no time.

The sunlight was finally dying down through the doorway, letting him know that it was practically nighttime. He would be fighting in the dark. That meant he had a greater chance of death since lions had better vision than humans in the dark.

*****

One by one, the amount of mangled bodies being carried out of the coliseum increased. Simmons yawned, his eyelids drooping as a wave of drowsiness washed over him. He would normally stay up at night much later, but time wasn’t in his favor today. 

They were on the twelfth gladiator, and Simmons was beginning to feel worried. There were only two more men, what if they couldn’t beat Artaxes? He’d get a good one from his father, he was sure.

Simmons glanced up at his parents. His mother was fiddling with the waist of her dress while his father stared ahead with an angered expression. The redhead gulped and turned back around, trying to take deep breaths.

A young man came out that was surely older than Simmons, and on the taller side. He had dark black hair that was cropped over to one side of his head, an eerie grin plastered across his face. When he looked up towards Simmons’ direction, the redhead shivered. And not pleasantly.

Artaxes was let out again. The lion sprinted toward the man, but was met with a wall to the face. The lion shook his head and lunged at the man again, its claws bared.

The man stepped aside and widened his stance, his concentrated expression remaining intact as he swung his knives at the beast.

Simmons tilted his head to the side, shock and a little bit of fear rising up from the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t sure if he liked this man, if the creepy grins he’d been sending Simmons’ way weren’t enough of a warning.

He noticed one of the blades cut through a section of the lion’s mane; and the creature _roared._ Some of the crowd cheered and hissed at the first official blow to the animal. 

The man looked back towards Simmons again, the most unusual expression adorning his face. The red head had to look away in embarrassment.

As soon as the man turned around again he yelled loudly, alerting Simmons once more. Artaxes had rammed him into one of the walls, quickly approaching. 

There wasn’t another moment wasted as the lion bit into the man’s leg with his sharp fangs. The man begged for mercy, even shouting at random guards that he wanted to quit. But no one moved a muscle, and soon his leg was torn off from the rest of his body.

The lion bit down into his shoulder, a few gurgling noises erupting from the man’s throat before his posture slumped and he laid still. The crowd roared, Simmons sighing in relief.

When Artaxes was put back into his gate, the crowd fell silent as they waited for the lion’s final opponent. Simmons sucked in a breath as the gate opened. This was it. The last gladiator.

A chubby man walked in slowly, the sword he carried dragging on the ground behind him. He had black hair that was overgrown and dark, tan skin. Simmons noticed he also had a bit of scruff across his face; the redhead felt a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He’d always had a thing for men with facial hair.

The man’s gaze flickered up towards him for a moment before turning back to the gate that contained Artaxes. He ran to the edge of the coliseum as fast as he could, slowly moving across the wall towards the gate.

Simmons raised an eyebrow curiously. The fight hadn’t even begun and this man had intrigued him more than every other man who had tried to court him.

*****

“What the hell is he doing?” Tucker asked as he watched Grif move along the side of the coliseum walls.

The man on his left shrugged while the one to his right gasped, “Ooh! Ooh! I know what he’s doing!” Donut exclaimed excitedly.

“What?” Tucker asked.

Donut rubbed his hands together with anticipation. “Watch.”

*****

Grif slid across the rounded walls of the coliseum as fast as he could. He heard the gate slowly opening just as he reached the edge of Artaxes’ chamber. He breathed in and out slowly, bringing his sword up to his side just as the first large paw set foot outside the gate.

The animal moved forward, curiously looking around at the audience surrounding it. It gave them a walk of puzzlement as to why no one was in the arena for him to munch on.

While it was still distracted, Grif moved in behind the animal and lifted his sword upwards. Artaxes spotted the newcomer as Grif swung the blade down, hitting the lion’s side.

Artaxes let out a loud roar and jumped back, not giving a second thought to its new injury as it growled at Grif from the other side of the arena. 

The lion began to circle around the coliseum, which Grif followed. From the corner of his eye he noticed the prince sit up from his position in his seat.

The lion paused, staring directly into Grif’s eyes before it lunged forward angrily. Grif mirrored the action, his eyes focused entirely on the lion. Just as he was three feet within Artaxes’ reach, Grif slid down to the ground and twisted the sword on its side. He slid underneath the lion, piercing the skin of its leg.

Once he was behind the lion, the beast let out another roar. It twisted in fury to face Grif once more. He noticed the animal was now moving slower than before with its limp.

Grif straightened his back and huffed. Artaxes charged forward with a surprisingly fast pace. He wasn’t as prepared that time, resulting in the animal’s side colliding with his chest and knocking him halfway across the arena.

*****

The prince put his hands to his mouth in shock as the gladiator cut his lion’s leg down. This man didn’t have the same mindset of the others. He didn’t possess any driving feelings of power or dexterity that he didn’t actually have. He wanted to live, and it seemed almost like he was strong enough to do so. His pudgy frame was very misleading.

When Artaxes launched the man across the arena, Simmons was on the edge of his seat. He licked his lips, eyes flickering over the scene. The man was down, but at least he still had a weapon to wield. 

Just as the man stood up again Artaxes ran at him, knocking his arm back. The sword he previously held shot across the stadium just below a row of stands, several people pulling their feet up in surprise.

Simmons stood up and gripped onto the edge of the stand’s protective wall, his green eyes clouded with worry. The prince felt a heat grow over his cheeks, a prickling sensation clawing underneath his skin. He wanted the man to live. He liked this man. He _really_ liked this man.

After a moment he realized why. All of the other men that had ever come to him were all audacious, unrestrained, and most of all _power hungry_. They all just came to the coliseum thinking that their overwhelming desire for the prince would allow them to kill Artaxes. But this man knew what it took to fight a lion; and he was careful. He had been the only one that hadn’t spent too much time scanning over Simmons’ features, although the single time he had looked up, Simmons noticed something about his expression the others didn’t have.

…He may have also been slightly attracted to how good-looking this man was. He blushed at the thought as he continued to look down at the stadium.

As the animal moved towards the man, Simmons ran towards the back exit. He could hear his mother’s voice calling for him, but he didn’t pay her any attention. He ran down to one of the many entrances of the stadium, gripping the edge of a pillar. He knew it wasn’t safe to wait down there, but he couldn’t help himself. 

He sent a silent prayer to the gods that the man would live to see sunrise.

*****

Grif stood up shakily, craning his head up just as the lion approached him, the speed of Artaxes slowing as more blood dripped from its side and leg.

He breathed out slowly and closed his eyes just as the animal leaped up to pin him down. The lion was only a few inches away from his face when he twisted his body around, jumping onto its now exposed back and wrapping his arms around Artaxes’ neck.

The animal howled and leapt back, tossing its body around as Grif’s grip tightened, suffocating the creature. He clung on for dear life.

Artaxes slumped to the ground after a few minutes, its breathing slowing down just enough that it wouldn’t be able to move. Grif knew that he wouldn’t be able to completely choke the large animal all on his own, so he let it go and ran for his sword.

As he took it in his sweaty hands the animal was practically up again, but it didn’t seem to want to move. Grif maneuvered his sword so he was looking down the blade, making a dead eye calculation as he threw to sword forward as fast and hard as he could, the edge of the blade piercing the lion’s skull just before it bit through the rest of its head.

His heart suddenly fluttered, the sudden wave of adrenaline causing him collapse to his knees on the dirt ground as the animal fell.

There was a split second of silence before the crowd erupted with roars and cheers. Even a few boos were brave enough to mix themselves in with the crowd. He glanced over to where he knew Tucker, Donut and Doc had been sitting and let out a laugh of relief as he witnessed Tucker actually gripping Donut in his strong arms and twisting the shocked man around, happiness glowing in his wild smile.

The gladiator burst out laughing himself, the intensity of the last few moments wearing off as he stood up again, dusting off his knees and fixing the position of the lower leg armor he’d been given.

He turned around and noticed the prince appear by the side of the coliseum, his red cape flowing through the cool night breeze. 

Grif gulped. He knew what this meant. Suddenly he felt his throat tighten and sweat bead around his hairline. What if the prince didn’t like him, and hated his existence in the palace? He wasn’t sure if he could live like that.

As the prince made his way towards him, Grif immediately straightened his posture. When he got even closer he noticed a light shade of pink dusting across the redhead’s cheeks.

The prince cleared his throat as soon as he stood in front of him, “… That was amazing. I’ve never seen anything like that in the coliseum before.” He told Grif, the intensity of his blush rising. Grif smiled at him.

“Thanks.” He replied, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “I’m Grif.” He told the prince.

“Prince Dick Simmons.” Simmons mumbled. “But you probably already knew that.”

“Uh- Yeah. So…” Grif started off, not quite sure on his to finish his own thoughts.

“So…” Simmons continued for him. “What now?”

“Yeah.” Grif asked, breathing out.

“Well… I guess that’s up to you.” The red head said, reaching forward and playing with Grif’s fingers that were resting at his sides.

Grif smirked nervously, _‘It’s now or never I guess.’_ He thought as he grabbed the prince’s waist and brought his lips onto his own.

Simmons’ eyes widened, but soon he wrapped his arms around Grif’s neck and kissed him back, sighing a breath of relief that this man could at least be as awkward as he was… Occasionally. He laughed internally at the thought.

People in the stands around them erupted in even louder cheers, and a few wolf-whistles managed to loop in between. Someone called out to the people in the stands, and everyone slowly began to leave. 

The two pulled away, but didn’t keep their faces more than an inch away from each other. 

“Woah.” The redhead mumbled, dazed.

Grif let out a laugh at Simmons’ lost expression. Suddenly he erupted into a fit of giggles, laughing even harder when he just realized he was actually _alive._

Simmons laughed himself, letting himself go as he joined Grif, “Everyone that has come to want to marry me always just came for my looks, body and wealth… Not once was it for _me_.” His eyes flickered for a moment, the two nearly level in height. He gave Grif an intense stare. “I hope that doesn’t happen again.”

“Whoever ‘falls in love’ with someone like that has to be a dick. I mean, I always had a little crush on you when I lived around the city, but at least I knew that I would never have anything to do with someone without their consent as well. I didn’t even think I had a chance to get to know you of all people.”

“Why not?” Simmons asked.

Grif sighed. “I’m from the slums.”

The red head shook his head as Grif pulled away. “That shouldn’t have changed anything. I don’t care where you came from; it’s just-”

“Yeah.” Grif said. He held out his hand to Simmons and the redhead obliged. Grif began walking over to a corner of the coliseum and looked at Simmons. “I hope you know that I have no idea where I’m going.”

Simmons laughed, “Well we could sit up in the stadium. Talk about stuff? Like this-” He gestured down to their linked hands.

Grif grinned. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, would you look at that! A historical fan fiction!
> 
> If you are a person who enjoys my writing but hates history; I am so sorry that I am this way. I honestly cannot help myself when writing these stories, they just seem to fit in with most of the characters really well. If you _do_ enjoy it... Well, I guess that's great news. Because I'm sure there'll be more. 
> 
> This story has been... _Heavily_ edited since its original release, just because I had made a lot of grammatical errors and some of the character scenes were a little if-y when it came to being in-character. So... Yeah, that about wraps that up. (And even then it's very, very old so still very, very cheesy.)


End file.
